


Home Again

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-05
Updated: 2006-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: When James refuses Harry, Lily leaves him. She meets another man at work and eventually gets involved with him. To Lily, he is perfect. He's smart, clean and funny. And he loves and accepts her and Harry. But what if James tries to re-enter the picture?





	1. Life Without James

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Dedications** : She deserves it! 

Erika - For nominating this story for the Hourglass Awards. I’m glad you like it so. Love you! 

**Chapter 1** : John and Lily 

(8:39 p.m. 1238 Lorillard Avenue. Godric’s Hollow.) 

I plop down on my bed after a long day of chasing my small son, Harry, around the house. He just learned to crawl, and is quite fast for an 11-month-old. At first, I encouraged his new skill by playing hide-and-seek with him, but he liked the game too much. I lost him for about thirty minutes, until he finally peeked his scruffy black head from out of his closet, grinning at me. Relieved, I bathed him, fed him, and put him to bed. 

Now I’m tired. John is due to work late and won’t be home for another hour. I force myself to get out of bed and change into my pajamas; I don’t want to do much moving when John gets home. All I want is to cuddle. Clad in my pajamas, I slip back into bed and wrap myself in the comforter, imagining John is holding me. I moan and snuggle into the comforter. A wave of sleep hits me; I’ll be freshly rested for when John comes home. 

Maybe we’ll watch a movie later. Or…something like that. James is always ready for-- 

My eyes shoot open and I suddenly feel very cold. James. Why did I think about him? _John_ , I correct myself mentally. _John_. Even though no one is around, I feel extremely embarrassed. This has happened many times before. I even called out James’s name when--well, that’s not important, is it? What’s important is that I desperately need to push the name ‘James Potter’ as far from my mind as possible. 

I glance over at the baby monitor on my bedside table. No noise comes from it. I sigh, growing sad. 

_He hadn’t wanted him_. 

I think back to the argument James and I had a couple days before Harry and I left. I had been feeding Harry--we just returned from the hospital a few hours before--and James was eyeing him nervously. I asked him what the matter was, and he said, very seriously, that he wasn’t sure he felt ready to be a father yet. I

close my eyes and try to remember everything from that night, down to the floral comforter I’d put on our bed. 

“You should have said something before you got me pregnant,”� I jibed lightly. 

“Lil, I’m serious.”� He glanced at the baby. “He’s…he’s so tiny. What if…I hurt him by mistake, or something?”� 

I squeezed his arm lightly. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”� 

“What if I don’t?”� he went on, absorbed now in his worries, “I don’t know the first thing about babies! Harry’s the first one I’ve ever been around.”� 

“You’ve got to start some time,”� I pointed out. “We’re stuck with him for the next eighteen years.”� I smiled at Harry. 

“I--I’m only eighteen myself,”� he floundered. “I’m too young.”� 

“That’s not what you said for the past nine months!”� I gnarred. 

Harry could sense the conflict and started fussing. 

“Shh,”� I soothed. Once he quieted down, I looked back up at James. “Remember what you kept telling me during my pregnancy?”� James remained silent, choosing to stare at the floor rather than at his wife. “ _I_ do. ‘Don’t be scared, Lily! I’m here! Don’t worry about giving up college, your hopes and dreams, because _I’m here_. I know what to do!’”� 

James’s cheeks reddened. “I…I didn’t say that last bit.”� 

I glared at him. “That’s what I interpreted.”� 

“Well, you interpreted wrong,”� retorted James. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby.”� 

“There’s really not much to it,”� I said. “You feed him, change him, bathe him, and play with him. It just takes some getting used to.”� Harry wrapped his fingers around a length of my hair and tugged. 

James frowned. “What if I don’t get used to it?”� 

Struggling to untangle my hair from Harry’s grip, I snapped, “You know, you’re giving me the impression you don’t want this baby.”� 

“I never--”� 

“You don’t sound dedicated at all. You’re complaining more than you’re helping.”� 

James looked from Harry to me. He’d finished eating and I had him cuddled against me. I rocked him gently in my arms and he opened and closed his eyes, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to sleep. “I’m only eighteen. I don’t want to be weighted down with a child. But I do want you, Lily. You wanted him. The whole time you wanted him. I don’t want to settle down so soon! We’re barely out of school and we have a baby already. You’re right. I don’t want him." 

The moment I comprehended what he said, I felt like a house had fallen on me, and my blood had turned to ice water. What the hell was he suggesting, that we get rid of Harry? Tears welled up in my eyes. Without another word, I gathered Harry in my arms and walked from the room, ignoring James’s call of, “Lily, I--wait! Come back here!”� 

I spent the rest of the night on the couch with Harry sleeping beside me in his bassinet. 

Wet, hot tears pluck me from my reverie. I wipe them away, sniffling, and feel an ache in my chest. I pull my legs close and lay my head on my knees; a choked sob escapes me. 

_I miss him_. _Merlin knows why, but I do._

And John knows this. He knows that I’m not truly happy, that James’s refusal of Harry scarred me. But he tries his best to heal my heart. I feel better when I think of him. Warmth floods me. _John_. He doesn’t mind my baby, or that I hadn’t been a virgin when we’d met. He still loves me. And he loves Harry, whom he has known from the time he was two weeks old. 

James cared. He didn’t want our baby. Why am I crying over him? 

‘ _Because you still love him_ ,’ says a voice inside of my head. ‘ _He was your first love_. _You’ll always miss him_.’ 

“Oh, bugger off,”� I snarl. 

“Fine,”� a voice from the doorway says, sounding facetiously hurt, “I’ll go talk to Harry.”� 

“John!”� I chirp, hopping off the bed and over to him, hugging him in welcome. “You’re early.”� 

He smiles into my hair. “Yeah. They let us out forty minutes early.”� John works at the Ministry of Magic, where I worked when we met. He works in the Apparition Test Center. Same as I had. 

“Why?”� I ask, clinging to him while he tries to set his briefcase down. 

“Lily! Off!”� he says. I release him. “Because the last kid didn’t show for his test.”� 

I laugh. “It’s funny, you calling him a kid when we’re not much older ourselves.”� We’re both only nineteen. Though he has a few months on me. 

His arms encircle my waist. “That doesn’t matter. We have forty extra minutes.”� He simpers and I cross my arms over my chest, giving him an odd grin. 

“Forty extra minutes for _what_ , John?”� I tease. He pulls me toward him and nuzzles my neck, giving it a light nip with his mouth. I giggle. 

“Oh. For _that_.”� I grin at him. The fact that John and James look almost nothing alike suits me. It makes certain things easier. James has short, straight, black hair, glasses, and a clear complexion, while John resembles me with long, curly hair--although his is brown rather than red and much shorter than mine--, a face full of freckles, and good vision. 

And sex with John is much different than sex with James. I don’t know exactly how to explain it. I guess it’s each of their approaches. James…shall we say, rushed things a bit, while John is slower, and savors each moment we’re together. I have to admit, I prefer John. First love or not, James hadn’t put much thought into what I wanted in a relationship. 

Another benefit of John. 

(9.30 p.m. 1238 Lorillard Avenue. Godric’s Hollow.) 

Snug and warm in John’s arms, I grin and snuggle closer to him. He kisses my neck and blows softly on the freckled skin, sending shivers up my spine. I moan. 

“You like that?”� John teases, pinning me down on the bed. He leans down to kiss me, but the cries of a baby drift into the room. I groan, but this time not out of pleasure. 

“Way to ruin the moment, Harry,”� I grumble. John moves off of me. I slip my nightgown over top of my undergarments--which is all I managed to get on before John pulled me back on the bed for cuddling. I step from the room, walk down the hallway, and enter the nursery. 

Harry pulls himself to his feet and grasps the railing, a sad look on his face. I instantly forget my annoyance at the sight of him. He flails his arms out toward me, falling on his bottom in the process. 

I chortle and pick him up. “You’re not strong enough to stand yet, are you, Harry?”� 

He gurgles in response. 

“What do you need?”� I ask. “Are you hungry? Wet?”� I check. Clean. “Do you want your bottle, Harry?”� 

The sound he responds with suggests a ‘no’. I raise an eyebrow. “Why did you interrupt Daddy and me then? Hmm?”� He chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?”� I tickle his chubby stomach, encouraged by his shrill giggling. 

“Oi,”� comes a voice from the doorway, “what’s all the noise?”� Harry stops giggling immediately and watches John cross the room. When he reaches us he smiles, letting up his mock annoyed expression. 

“Da!”� Harry burbles at John, reaching for him. He obliges and lifts him from my arms, making funny faces at him. Harry responds by grabbing his nose. 

“Oi!”� he says, his voice distorted, “let go!”� Harry giggles, but obeys. “Silly,”� laughs John, tickling him. Harry lies against his chest and closes his eyes. 

“Oh. You wanted Daddy,”� I say, slightly hurt. John drapes an arm around me and kisses my cheek. 

“He just wanted to cuddle.”� 

“With you.”� 

John avoids my eyes. 

I nudge him, smiling. “I was just teasing. Are we bringing him back to our room?”� 

“Sure looks that way,”� he says, looking down at Harry, who is watching us out of one eye; he shuts it as soon as he sees that John noticed. We giggle. 

“My little man,”� I say fondly, rumpling his hair. “So much like your father.”� 

Oh, _fuck_. 

At these words, we exchange uneasy glances and go in silence with Harry to our room. 

O O O


	2. Returning

**Chapter 2** : Returning 

(8:21 a.m. 1238 Lorillard Avenue. Godric’s Hollow.) 

Something collides with my foot, jolting me out of sleep. 

“Ow!”� I mumble, turning over to glare at my boyfriend, who is sitting on the floor. “You squished my foot!”� 

John looks sheepishly up at me from slipping on his sock. “Sorry. I tried not to wake you, but I sort of…erm…tripped.”� 

I chuckle. “Always the graceful one.”� 

He blushes. 

I stick out my foot. “Look what you did!”� I admonish, though there aren’t marks. “Make it better!”� 

I immediately feel John’s curly hair against my leg as he bends to nuzzle my foot. He gives it a quick kiss and looks up at me. 

“Am I forgiven?”� A grin tugs at his lips. 

“Yeah.”� I sink to the floor beside him and sit myself in his lap, nestling my head against his chin. “I love you.”� 

“I love you too,”� He kisses me. 

“So where were you going?”� I ask pensively, tracing the design on his shirt with my finger. 

“The kid showed up today. They called me in.”� 

I look up at him. “But it’s Saturday!”� I pule. “You have to stay home!”� 

“It’ll only take an hour,”� he assures me, stroking my hair softly, “I’ll be back before you know it.”� 

I sigh. “All right. I’ll play with Harry until you get back.”� 

He kisses the top of my head. “Good. Want me to get anything for breakfast while I’m out?”� 

Our eyes meet. Do I feel like cooking? Not really. 

“Sure. Just pick up my usual from MacDonald’s.”� 

John gapes at me in disbelief. “For _breakfast_?"

“Yes!”� I pipe with a grin. “Milkshakes are a wonderful merger of all the food groups! A perfect selection for a balanced breakfast.”� 

He rolls his eyes, ensuing my grin. “I’m picking you up a sandwich, too.”� 

“You spoil all the fun,”� I pout. 

“Really?”� An impish grin parts his lips. “I didn’t hear any complaints last night.”� He wiggles his eyebrows. 

I blush and swat him lightly on the shoulder, but don’t comment any further. 

“Anyway,”� he says, assuming a more serious tone of voice. He glances at his watch. “It’s about time for me to go. I’ll see you in an hour. Maybe an hour and a half if traffic is bad.”� He stands up, pulling me to my feet beside him. 

“’Bye!”� He gives me a quick kiss. I barely have time to respond before he’s in the doorway. He stops at my call. 

“Yes?”� he asks, not sounding the least bit impatient. I walk over to him, and wrap him tightly in my embrace; his sweatshirt feels very cozy against me. I nuzzle him. 

“You don’t have to rush off, you know,”� I say groggily, shutting my eyes. “You don’t need to drive in. Just Apparate or Floo!”� 

“I can’t if I’m bringing you food.”� 

“Then I’ll cook.”� 

“Why do you want me to stay so badly?”� he asks, genuinely curious. 

“You haven’t said good morning to Harry!”� I insist. “He misses you during the day!”� 

John sighs. “I know. But should we wake him?”� 

I am about to respond, but a noise from the next room beats me to it. I take John’s free hand in mine and lead him to the baby’s room. Harry smiles up at us from the crib. He’s lying on his back and babbling in baby-talk at us. I smile at my son and lift him from his bed, cradling him in my arms. The boy immediately fusses, as this is not the way he likes to be held. 

“No!”� he whines, struggling to free himself from my tight hold. I roll my eyes at his familiar expression, but arrange him in his favorite position--facing forward, supported under his arms. Harry likes to be able to look around. He giggles at John and his bright eyes light up. 

“He’s such a happy baby,”� says John, eyes shimmering. Harry grabs his finger with his tiny hand. 

“He’s happy to see Daddy,”� I say, and kiss Harry’s cheek. “Aren’t you?”� 

“Da!”� Harry enthuses, scrambling his arms toward John. I hand him over, watching the two laugh, talk (or try to, in Harry’s case), and play. I feel a slight ache in my chest at the thought of James. He hasn’t seen Harry since the night we left. 

When he was four days old… 

“I’m going, James!”� I yelled across the living room, hoping my voice would carry to the massive kitchen where I knew James was. I had already moved all of my things--besides Harry and his travel bag--to my new apartment, so there wasn’t much to carry. 

The western-style doors swung open and James emerged, trying to look calm; he wasn’t hiding it well. I only needed to look at his eyes to see he was a mess inside. Obviously, he regretted what he said to me two nights before. But that did little to ease my pain. 

“Bye,”� I said sheepishly, bending down to grab Harry’s bag and the handle of his car seat carrier. James didn’t look at me. He only looked down at the infant in his seat with misty eyes. I was glad that his bangs had fallen in front of his eyes; I didn’t need to see him crying. This was already hard enough. 

“B-bye,”� he whispered. A whisper seemed to be all that he could manage. It broke my heart to hear him sound like that, so distant, lost, cold and confused. For the past two years, I had looked to James for a source of comfort, friendship, and love. Why, then, was I leaving him? Why were my baby’s things all packed up with mine? Why had I signed divorce papers? Why had I bought an apartment in Hogsmeade? 

‘ _I’ll tell you why_ ,’ began the nasty little voice inside of my head, ‘ _he doesn’t want your baby. He doesn’t want to be a father. He said so. You heard him._ ’ 

‘ _I know_ ,’ I responded. My breathing became shaky and quick. I wanted to leave as soon as I could. I began to walk to the front door of our-- _his_ house, and found that with every step I took, a little piece of me died. But I didn’t look back. I didn’t say a word. My chest ached like hell and I knew why; I didn’t want to go. 

I love James. 

Stopping for a moment, I glanced into the mirroring glass panel on the back of the door; he hadn’t taken his eyes off Harry the whole time. 

“Lily?”� John’s concerned tone startles me out of my memory. Harry watches me silently. “Are you all right? You look like you’re about to cry.”� 

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut to get rid of lingering tears. “I’m fine. I was just thinking.”� 

“What were you thinking about that made you cry?”� he wonders aloud. 

“Nothing,”� I reply softly, glancing over at the wall clock. “Oh!”� I remember suddenly, abandoning my melancholy disposition, “You’d better get going before that kid leaves again!”� 

John checks his watch in a hurried rush. “You’re right!”� he exclaims, holding Harry out toward me. I take him. He pecks both of our cheeks and rushes out of the house. When I hear the front door shut, I wander into our room with Harry perched on my hip and stare out the curtained window into the driveway. I watch him back out and listen to the vroom of his car as it speeds down the street. 

He is, like me, one of the few wizards who bothered to get a driver’s license. Surprisingly, he isn’t even Muggle-born, as I am. The thought of driving always intrigued him and he pursued it. 

I turn my gaze away from the window and kneel down on the floor, setting Harry beside me, to search under the bed. Harry wanders around the room, grabbing my slippers. I giggle and slide my hand under the bed, trying to find an album. 

After going nearly all the way under, I find it hiding cleverly in the far corner. I grunt a bit as I shuffle back out and Harry eyes my disheveled appearance inquiringly. I give him a look of my own. 

“What?”� I ask, sounding playfully annoyed, “is there something wrong with Mommy being dusty?”� 

Although he doesn’t understand a word of what I say (apart from ‘Mommy’) he giggles at me. 

I arrange the dusty album in my lap and brush it off. Harry props on it for support and looks up at me. 

“Gah?”� he asks. 

Hearing his baby gibberish always makes me laugh. I exchange the album for Harry, and he cuddles himself in my lap, gazing over to the dusty book I slid onto the floor in front of us. 

I flip the cover over. The book smells musty from laying with the dust bunnies and the occasional dirty sock. Harry coughs and clamps his hand over his nose. 

“Bleh!”� he remarks, giving me an annoyed look. I can’t help but smile. Oh, how he resembles James! I rumple his mess of hair and kiss his forehead. 

“Do you want to see your father and me? I have a lot of pictures.”� 

“Uhh?”� he says. I interpret this as “Father?”� and proceed to flip the first empty, dusty page over. Harry squeals in excitement when he sees that the next page is full of colorful, moving pictures. 

“Ma!”� he inhales, pointing down at the Lily in the picture. I nod. 

“Very good, Harry!”� I praise. “Now who is that?”� I point to the tall, black-haired man beside me. His arm belts my waist and he smiles broadly at the camera. My heart aches at the sight of him and I feel tears springing up in my eyes. 

“Huu?”� he repeats, mimicking me. I giggle, sniffling a bit. Placing my finger on James’s face, I say, “That’s your father. See? He looks like you.”� 

“You?”� Harry repeats, confused. 

“Yes, sweetie,”� I titter, “you.”� 

“You!”� he enthuses, smiling. 

“And there he is again, Harry!”� I say brightly, mesmerizing the child with the moving pictures. “That was our graduation day.”� Picture James kisses picture Lily on the cheek; I feel a sharp pang in my chest. 

“Da! Ma!”� peeps Harry, pointing as James repeats the act. I smile and wipe my eyes. He’s probably referring to the kissing John and I do. Harry is such a smart baby. 

Just like his father… 

_James._

I flip the page, my eyes clouded with tears. My breathing quickens. A tear slips from my eye and lands with a _splat_! on the page, startling Harry. 

“Ma!”� he gasps. He touches my cheek with a tiny hand where another tear is trailing behind. He wipes it off. 

“’Ook!”� he insists, pointing to the page. He taps it firmly until I smile and kiss his cheek. 

“All right, Harry.”� I cuddle him. “Let’s look.”� 

For the next half and hour, I show him all of the pictures in the album, including the ones of him on the day he was born. James’s mother went camera crazy, so there are plenty of those. I laugh when he remarks “Baby!”� and I have to remind him that he is _still_ a baby. Of course I cry a bit when I reach the picture of the three of us: I am lying in the hospital bed hooked up to who knew what with Harry, wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket, cradled in my arms; and James is sitting beside me, gazing down at the infant and occasionally brushing his cheek with his finger. With his other arm, he cuddles me. 

This is when the torrent of tears begins. I lift Harry from my lap, sit him on the floor beside me and draw my knees to my chest, sobbing and drawing in deep, raspy breaths. Tears fall unchecked from my cheeks, drip to my legs, and run down my ankles, creating a small discolored mark on the carpet. 

Harry worriedly tries to calm me down. “Ma!”� he repeats over and over again, scrabbling at my leg as he tries to get my attention. I finally lift my head to look at him; My eyes are puffy and somewhat bloodshot, and the rivers of tears don’t seem to be capable of drying. 

My son gives me a “ _I’m_ the only one in this house allowed to cry!”� look, and I pick him up and cradle him. He doesn’t mind this time, since I seem to be soothing. 

“I miss him, Harry,”� I whisper into his ear. “And I bet he misses us.”� 

“Us?”� Harry asks of the unfamiliar word. 

“Mommy and you,”� I explain. “Would you like to live with James?”� 

Harry doesn’t answer me. He struggles to get out of my grasp, but not because he doesn’t like the way I’m holding him this time. 

He crawls to the head of the book and points at the man with shaggy black hair. 

“Ames!”� he declares proudly. 

I smile at him. A true, genuine smile. “Yes, Harry,”� I say, almost eagerly, “James.”� 

“Ma! Ames!”� 

“Yes.”� 

“Da?”� he asks unexpectedly. 

I feel a rush of coldness sweep through me. John. What about John? I growl angrily after a moment. 

‘ _A look through the photo album does not change_ anything _,’_ I resolutely explain to myself _. ‘Just because_ you _miss_ him _, does not mean that_ he _misses_ you _!_ ’ 

‘ _But what if he does?_ ’ the voice taunts. 

‘ _He didn’t want him_ ,’ I think sadly, referring to the bubbly baby at my heels. 

‘ _People change_ ,’ says the voice silkily. 

‘ _What do you mean?_ ’ 

No response. 

I sigh and turn my attention back to Harry. “Want breakfast?”� 

Harry nods enthusiastically and points to his mouth. “’Ood!”� He reaches his arms toward me, begging to be picked up. I give him a look and say, “Oh? _Now_ you want mommy?”� before picking him up and heading down to the kitchen. In the hallway, I pass a picture of the three of us (me, John, and Harry, that is) sitting in the studio of a professional photographer. Ignoring myself and Harry, I focus on John. 

What would my life be like without him? I know that his love saved me from suicide several times before. When I first started working at the Ministry, Harry came along with me every day, due to my lack of funds to pay for a sitter. John, who worked two desks down from me, was instantly curious about the young girl and her baby, and tried to strike up conversations with me during our lunch break. 

He learned how sad and hurt I was, and that I wanted desperately to be with my ex-husband again. John tried to be as comforting as possible. He quickly became a good friend and we spent a lot of our time together. We talked, went out for dinner, played with Harry, and walked around Hogsmeade, where we both lived at the time. 

And although he knows very well that I am still madly in love with the baby’s father, John tried to pursue a relationship with me. One night we allowed our relationship to progress. I was feeding Harry on the couch while John watched television. After I laid him in his room to sleep, I rejoined my friend on the couch; I cuddled close to him, trying to achieve a union similar to what James and I once shared. Hands began roaming in places they hadn’t dared before, and too quickly for words we finished and John had gone home in a nervous flutter, leaving me in my bedroom where I mourned for what I considered betraying James. Once the shock of our act wore off, our romantic relationship flowered. Six months later, here we are. In a nice, new house in Godric’s Hollow. 

Same place as James and I had lived. 

I tear my eyes from the picture, round the corner and go downstairs. The living room is still clean from yesterday’s spurt of Spring Cleaning (mind you, it’s June), and I inhale its fresh scent. I love things to be clean. If Harry throws even one toy out of his crib, I have a hard time bypassing the room without putting it back. 

“’Ood!”� Harry insists impatiently. I hear his stomach growl. 

“Sorry. Sorry,”� I say, and hurry into the kitchen where the cold, floor tiles send goose bumps up my arms and legs. After fixing Harry in his high chair, I go to the pantry to grab the instant cereal mix. The whole process of sprinkling the powder into his favorite red bowl, adding a bit of cinnamon for extra flavor, giving it a tap with my wand (which Harry gasps in awe at) and setting it on the tray in front of him takes about 30 seconds. I even bewitch the spoon to feed him. 

Harry giggles and bounces happily in his chair. He loves seeing me and John use magic, and it excites him every time. I give him a kiss on the forehead before I walk into the living room to select a magazine from my basket. I want to make this quick in case anything happens while I’m out of the kitchen. Even simple household spells can be dangerous. 

When the doorbell rings, my hand is on the latest copy of _People Magazine_. I grow excited. Nearly an hour has passed. John! He’s home! I rush to the front door, the wintriness of the doorknob seeping into my skin, and I swing it open, a welcoming grin on my face. 

But when I see who is standing before me, it distorts into an expression that can be described as many things. Confused. Surprised. Worried. Angry. Amorous, even. 

The person on my doorstep is the last person I expect to see. 

Because the person on my doorstep is James Potter. 

O O O


	3. The Deal

**Chapter 3** : The Deal

(9:17 a.m. 1238 Lorillard Avenue. Godric’s Hollow.)

Neither of us says anything for a moment. I survey him from his shoes to the chaotic black hair atop his head. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater with gray trousers along with a chenille scarf to match his sweater. A plain black robe (left unhitched for style purposes) serves as his top layer. His attire makes me feel very underdressed; I have on thin plaid pajama pants and an oversized green sweater that reads “Kiss Me--I’m Irish!”� on the front. My ponytail is a disheveled mess and I’m almost certain that there is a piece of dust lingering above my eyebrow.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”� I ask. My arms tremble slightly and my eyes are as wide as saucers. It’s a new sensation to me; I’ve never been nervous around him before.

Are my knees feeling a tad _weak_? And why is my heart beating faster?

“I heard that you live nearby,”� he says in the same familiar, deep tones. “I thought I’d--er--say hello.”�

Say _hello_?

“Hello…”� I say awkwardly, trailing off. To break the silence and to be polite (not to mention I really want him to stay), I remember my manners. “Would you, erm, like to come in? Harry’s eating breakfast right now.”�

James looks a little uneasy at the mention of his son, but differently so. It isn’t like That Night. These are two completely different kinds of uneasy and I’m eager to learn exactly how they’re different.

“Sure,”� he responds. I back up and he steps over the threshold, looking around the room. The walls are bare of any color except for the few portraits we’d scattered throughout the house; the carpet is gray, brand-new and freshly steamed; and the tile bordering the doorway is plain white separated by black grout lines. I’d tried to add a bit of a feminine touch to the room with ribboned curtains, doilies, and potted plants. I notice James smirk for a moment at the site of these, and I hold back my own smile; he teased me when I brought them out at our old house.

“Everything looks so new,”� he comments conversationally. “Did you just move in?”�

“Yes,”� I say with a nod, crossing my arms over my chest for warmth, “a couple of months ago.”� I find that it isn’t hard to talk to James at all. Maybe it’s my body’s reaction to crying for him all the time. He’s here now. There’s no need to cry.

“Is it just you and Harry?”� he asks tentatively, although his expression suggests that he already knows the answer.

“No,”� I say; I feel like a huge weight is sinking into the pit of my stomach as I say this, “my--er--boyfriend too.”�

If there were an Olympic competition for the most put-out expression, James Potter would take home the gold. He obviously heard about John, but didn’t really believe it--or want to believe it--until it came out of my mouth. 

And if there were a subsequent competition for attempting to hide said expression, he surely would be sent back home.

“So, what’s his name?”�

“John. John Stroud.”�

James gives a nod. “Lily Stroud?”�

“Not yet,”� I say, trying to suppress a grin; I can’t help it. John makes me happy. “But we have talked about it.”�

Another nod. I can tell that he’s hurting. He has the same foggy look in his eyes as he had when I left all those months ago. 

“Where’s Harry?”�

My blood freezes. Harry is still in his high chair. Hopefully my magic trick has amused him long enough; he usually whines and wriggles to get out of his chair the moment he finishes. What if it tips over? I nearly run straight to my baby, but I don’t want to give off bad-mommy vibes to James, so I keep quiet and calmly lead him to the kitchen.

I sigh with relief once I see him; he’s sitting in his chair still, trying to catch the floating spoon. But it stays cleverly out of reach. When he sees us, he shifts his attention away from the flying spoon and says cheerfully, “Ma! Ames!”� along with a bang of his little fists on the high chair tray.

James seems impressed that Harry knows and can say his name, but also appears confused. He raises an eyebrow at me, and my cheeks take on a bit of a pink-ish hue. 

“How does he know my name?”�

I dodder nervously from foot to foot. “We…were, uh, looking at pictures this morning. I told him who you are.”� This time both of his eyebrows arch; he clearly suspects a fib.

“Pictures?”� he reverberates dubiously.

I nod confidently to mollify his suspicions. “I just…felt like looking through them. And I showed Harry.”�

Harry perks up again at the mention of his name and looks at me. “Ma?”�

Pretending neither of them said anything, I walk over to the high chair and lift him out of it, beaming. 

“Good! You didn’t get messy!”�

“No!”� says Harry proudly. He hugs me around the neck and I pat his back in return. 

With a flick of my wand, I end the feeding spell on the spoon and it descends to the tray with a clank. I turn around to face James, who has a smile etched on his face.

“He’s so cute,”� he says earnestly. I glow with pride; every mother likes to hear this of her child, even if it’s his father who’s saying it.

“Would you like to hold him?”� I ask nervously. _Oh God, please don’t let him say no_.

“Okay,”� he says with a smile. 

I smile at him in exchange. As he returns him to me, I cheer silently. He didn’t say no! He doesn’t hate Harry! “Let’s go in to the living room. I want to talk.”� 

James bobbles his head and steps aside for me to lead us in to the living room.

We take adjacent seats on the couch and I offer Harry to James. He takes him rather nervously, as if Harry is a delicate antique, but holds him close. Harry seems to like James, because he doesn’t complain at all about the closeness; he usually only lets himself be cuddled when he’s tired, and less argumentative. 

I smile at my son; he adjusts well to strangers. Though I doubt he counts James as a stranger. He saw pictures of him this morning and is a relatively trusting child. If he sees someone in a book, a picture, or on the television, he considers them to be people he knows.

“Ames,”� says Harry, tugging on his scarf and gazing up at him with his scintillating green eyes. James looks down at him, anticipating a reply.

“What?”� he asks, trying to sound as baby-friendly as he can. I roll my eyes at him.

“He’s not going to answer you,”� I say, concealing my giggle so not to offend him. “He’s just talking. He wants attention.”�

“Oh.”� He sounds embarrassed. “Well…I…er….”� He trails off. Harry grabs his father’s finger and begins nipping it with his tiny, newly-grown teeth.

I watch the adorable sight for a moment before looking up at James in earnest. “Why are you here? Tell me the truth.”�

James sighs and looks down at Harry. “Can I have my finger back?”� he asks his son.

“Ames!”� says Harry as he lets go of his finger. James pats him on the head and wipes his finger off. He cuddles Harry to his chest so he won’t have to worry about him tumbling over the side of the couch. Then he looks up at me.

“I came back for him,”� says James, referring to the small boy in his arms. 

My heart beats faster. Am I really hearing this? He stares sincerely at me and I know that he’s going to talk to me-- _really_ talk to me. 

“I know I was a jerk, and that I should have given everything a chance to sink in first. I want to try and fix that. I also know that I’ve missed a lot already. But I don’t want to miss any more. I may not be able to get you back”�--I blush and busy myself with a tendril of my hair--“but I should be able to take a part in Harry’s life. He’s half mine.”�

Although I’m ecstatic to hear that James is finally ready for Harry, I also feel that he deserves a reprimand for taking so long to do so.

“And what has made you finally come over?”� I ask, sounding slightly condescending.

“Well…I realized that you live close, and I--”�

“You knew where I was living before,”� I spit, sounding awfully vicious toward the person I’d cried over earlier that day. “Why didn’t you come back then?”�

“I don’t know!”� he says, sounding angry as well. It ebbs and he appears to be considering something. “I guess…I thought that you wouldn’t take me back. And now you have this _John_ fellow… You don’t realize how stupid I feel.”� When he finishes, he sounds very glum and remorseful. 

My heart goes out to him--if it were me in that position, I would have been confused, too.

“I might have,”� I say, my tone of voice gentler. “I missed you a lot.”� 

James’s warm smile is very comforting. It feels like the old days. And he’s even snuggling with Harry, who has fallen asleep.

“I missed you too, Lily,”� he says softly. “ I still do. I still--”� he cuts himself off, as though he almost said too much. _What was he going to tell me?_ He chuckles lightly to comfort himself. “But I guess that doesn’t matter now, does it?”� 

“You weren’t there,”� I say instinctively. At first my voice is soft and shy, but I grow more confident as I speak on, glad to finally express my feelings. “John was there. He helped me raise Harry and he accepted me. You didn’t want him.”�

“I didn’t mean that,”� he admits heavily, “I did want Harry. I wanted you too. I was scared. Scared and young and stupid. I felt like Harry had decided my whole life for me. Like there was no way to go back and fix it. ...Just like there’s no way to go back and fix what I’ve done.”� He sighs, pained. “I just want to start over.”�

He wants to start over? My heart swells with love for him. He’s finally come to me and redeemed himself. He’s ready! The only problem is...I’m attached. 

I can’t accept. I _can’t_ stab John in the back after he’s put so much into us. 

“We can’t start over, James,”� I say, feeling as though someone’s forced me to. “I’m with someone else now.”�

But _I love you_.

“I meant...start over with _Harry_ ,”� he says, giving me an odd look. 

I redden. Shit. That was smooth. Now I sound conceited.

“Is that all right?”�

I try to answer him, but a click from the bolt on the door and the appearance of John in the foyer distracts both of us. It isn’t until he’s closed and locked the door that he notices James sitting on the couch. He has the milkshake and a cup of what I guess is coffee in a drink holder in one hand, and a small, brown bag in the other.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to have a visitor, Lily,”� he says, sounding both conversational and surprised. He walks over to us and peeks at Harry sleeping in James’s lap. 

He is _so_ jealous.

“I’ll take Harry upstairs if you want,”� he offers.

“He’s fine here, thanks,”� says James politely, gently stroking his son’s messy hair. I admire how tender he is with Harry. How could this man have thought himself unprepared for his son?

John nods. He isn’t liking this at all. 

“I brought your food,”� he says to me. “A milkshake and a burger.”� 

I accept the bag and smile at him. “Thanks.”�

James snickers. “She still eats ice cream for breakfast? My Lily hasn’t changed a bit.”�

_Jesus H. Christ._

His last sentence ensues mixed feelings. Honestly, he doesn’t mean to. To him, I have always been ‘his Lily’. I’m very flattered, of course, to hear that he still thinks of me in this way, but I don’t want to upset John by giving off the impression that I liked it. And John? Well, if looks could kill, he would aim a dirty glare right at James. But being the civil man he is, he chuckles politely and announces that he needs to go upstairs to change.

I start on my milkshake first, pushing the burger bag aside. Milkshakes have the tendency to melt quickly, so it’s best that one finishes them soon. Which isn’t a problem. I always finish desserts quickly. It’s not like the burger’s going to waste, or anything. I’ll just stuff it in the fridge when John isn’t looking, and when he finds it in a couple of days, I _know_ he’ll finish it without question.

Probably. 

Mmm. This is _so_ much better than waffles. I stuff a large spoonful of the sweet dessert into my mouth. You know what would go perfectly with that? I think suddenly. _James_.Oh, God. I didn’t just think that. Stop it, stop it, stop it. 

Okay...that thought is leaving my brain. Now. 

Against my better instincts, I imagine the first time James and I ever snogged. In great detail. 

STOP. IT. 

‘You’re the one who wants it,’ I think, annoyed with myself. ‘Leave that other man,’ another part of me implores. ‘You’ve got all you need on the couch.’

‘But John never left me!’ I protest. ‘James disappointed me! He broke my heart! He doesn’t deserve me!’

I look back up at James, who has been staring meditatively at Harry.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?”� asks James, staring admiringly at his son.

“Yes,”� I concede, placing my milkshake on the coffee table. “He looks just like you.”�

Dammit. _Why_ can’t I prevent myself from saying these things?!

James plunges out of his dream-like state with a devilish grin. “Does this mean...you think _I’m_ cute?”�

I ponder for a moment; I don’t want to give James the satisfaction of knowing that I still feel for him. 

“No. I merely agreed that our son is cute. Then I said he looked like you. You’re the one who made a connection between the two.”�

James wears a challenging grin. He knows I’m teasing him. I pick up my cup and scoop more milkshake into my mouth, amused. 

“There has to be a connection,”� he decides, “You said he’s cute and that he looks just like me. That’s got to mean you think I’m cute.”�

Obviously, I am not going to win this one. 

I snap my fingers in mock defeat. “Damn you and your clever ways, James!”� We laugh.

“So, how did you find out that I live here?”� I ask, trying to sound casual. 

“I work for the Floo Network Authority. I couldn’t help but notice a new addition to the list. And I heard that you’re with a man called John Stroud,”� he answers, confirming my earlier suspicions. “Plus, I live nearby. It wasn’t too hard to figure out.”�

John returns downstairs and takes a seat in the armchair across from the couch. “So,”� he begins, “You never mentioned why you’re here.”�

I glare at him. He doesn’t have to take that tone. 

“I’m here to see Harry,”� clarifies James evenly. He can tell that John is both suspicious and jealous. “We’re going to set up a visiting schedule.”�

John steals a quick glance at me. He _must_ notice how happy I am. Why does he have to spoil this? I’ve been waiting for this for nearly a year. James hasn’t just come to see Harry. He has also come to see me.

_Me_!

“Lily?”� he asks, “Would you come into the kitchen for a moment, please?”�

I feel angry with him for his request. I assume that he’s jealous and wants James to leave. 

And I’m right. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Lily!”� John is saying in slightly panicked, yet determined whispers. “You’re my first love! This man cannot suddenly decide that he wants you two back! I want him to leave!”�

My brow furrows in anger. “Who ever said that I was going back with him?”� I perch my hands on my hips and continue in a furious whisper, “Besides, you _know_ how I feel about James! I told you before we even began dating. And he is not leaving yet! We haven’t finished arranging our schedule, and he wants to spend more time with Harry.”� 

John sighs and kneads his forehead. “Look, Lily, I love you, but I’m not ready for this. You can’t just–just _give_ someone something and then take it back whenever you bloody well feel like it!”�

“Why are you acting like this?”� I snap, nettled. “He’s just come to see his son. He wants to participate in his life. What’s so wrong with that?”� 

“You know very well that Harry’s not the only reason he came here. He thinks you three can be a family again. He thinks you’ll go weak at the knees for his _charm_ ”�–he scoffs at the word–“and fall into his–”�

“ _Shut up_!”� I yell, indifferent to the knowledge that James can definitely hear me. 

I have never felt so angry at John. How _dare_ he talk about me like I’m some damsel in distress? As if I’m just waiting for my Prince Charming to cart me off to some fairytale world. 

John is taken aback. I can’t remember ever yelling at him before.

“I don’t need your permission to have guests,”� I say coolly, returning to a whisper. 

A line appears between John’s eyebrows; for a second, I think he’s going to shout at me. 

“Fine, then. He can stay. But I won’t.”�

He stalks from the kitchen before I can react. 

“John!”� I call, heading for the living room. “Don’t be–”� The front door slams shut. I see him through the window, walking to his car. “…stupid.”�

I lock eyes with James, who has been watching the scene with mixed interest and surprise.

“He’s, er…heading off to work,”� I mutter, breaking eye contact.

James smiles knowingly. “He wants me to leave. He thinks I’m here to steal you away.”�

My face scrunches in confusion. “How did you…?”�

He grins. “You two aren’t the best whisperers.”�

I blush. “Oh.”�

“I’d better go. I’ve caused enough friction for one day.”� He lifts Harry gingerly from the couch and places him into my arms without waking him. I’m surprised he slept through the door slamming. 

“It’s all right. Really,”� I try to assure him. “John’s just…”�

James holds up a hand to silence me. “I understand.”�

“You can come back tomorrow,”� I say as he heads toward the door. “Is eleven good for you?”� 

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a good idea?”� 

“Yes, of course,”� I say emphatically. “A very good idea. A _splendid_ idea.”�

Merlin, was that overkill. 

“But would John agree?”� he asks. “I don’t want to offend anybody.”�

Too late for that.

“You aren’t,”� I lie, shaking my head. “I’ll…talk to John. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”�

He smiles. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven, then.”�

I surpress a grin. “Right.”�

He’s nearly out the door when abruptly he turns around. “I almost forgot. Thank you for letting me visit with Harry.”� Tentatively, he kisses my cheek. “I don’t deserve it.”�

My hand covers the place his lips touched. “Y-you’re welcome.”�

\- - -

John doesn’t return for several hours. But I’m okay with this. Harry and I spend the day going through every scrapbook I own, every letter James ever wrote me, and every photo album beneath the bed. I even slip on my old wedding ring for a minute or two.

I don’t meant to sound tactless or heartless when I say that I don’t mind John leaving for the afternoon. I’m just glad we’re not rowing, and that my day is peaceful and quiet. 

For the most part.

‘What is wrong with me?’ I think eventually. John and I were doing great until James turned up and confused everything. 

Well…all right, perhaps we weren’t doing _great_. But we were doing fine. 

We love each other. We’re happy together. 

But then why haven’t I felt like this when I think about John? I surely don’t sit around day-dreaming about him. 

That’s only because I don’t live with James, I tell myself firmly. Plus, he’s Harry’s father. It’s natural to still have some feelings for him. 

He doesn’t want me back anyhow. 

I mean, it didn’t _seem_ like he does. 

Except for that kiss. No, it was only out of politeness. _Friend_ liness.I bet he has a girlfriend now. Oh, God, what if he _does_? Now that he’ll be seeing Harry all the time, what if I have to speak with her? I’ll have to pretend that I don’t want to rip her head off and stomp on it, and that it’s perfectly all right she’s snogging James. 

I stop. What if James is thinking the same thing about John? What if he _does_ want me back? What if–

“Lily?”� I look up to see John in the doorway. I’m surprised; I hadn’t heard him come upstairs.All the albums, letters, and scrapbooks are still strewn over the floor. 

“Hi,”� I mutter, shamefaced, rushing to put my things away. 

“You don’t have to do that,”� John tells me. “It’s all right.”�

When we make eye contact, I’m struck with guilt. I’m horrible and am being completely unfair to him. I sniffle despite my best efforts, and a tear runs down my cheek.

“I’m sorry,”� I say. “I’m…so confused.”�

He stares at me for a moment, then comes to kiss my cheek. “I apologize as well. I know this is difficult for you. It is for me too. But, you know...I’ve realized something.”�

I wipe the wetness from my eyes. “What’s that?”�

“I can’t compete with him,”� he replies, deadpan. 

I laugh. “Pardon?”� 

“I’m serious, Lily. When you were together, you had this... _glow_. You two are so happy just to _be_ with each other. It’s...extraordinary. That's why I was so jealous. _I’ve_ never made you happy like that before. I don’t think I ever could.”� I am about to reassure him, to let him know that he does make me happy, when he says, 

“I think...that if James is who you want...you should have him.”�

I gape at him. “Wh-what?”� 

This is not John speaking. It _can’t_ be. Some alien has abducted him and sent this miracle man in his place.

John nods affirmatively. “I think you should go home with him.”� 

This is very noble and mature of him, and all...but he can’t really _mean_ it. …Right?

“Go with James?”� I parrot incredulously. “But...why?”�

He sighs. “Lily, I know you’re in love with James. And now look; he’s come back to see your child. Isn’t that what you wanted? You three can be a family again.”�

Happiness trickles through me. He’s right. We could be. 

Then reality kicks in. Hang on. Don’t get excited too quickly, Lily. 

“You make it sound so easy, John! But it would be hard on all four of us. I don’t know if I could go back to living with James. I’ve grown so accustomed to you.”� I reach for his hand.

He pulls it out of reach. “But you even said that you’re not truly happy here, without James! I _saw_ the way you two are together. You can’t hide that grin from anyone, Lily. Especially me.”� 

I smile. “He does make me happy. And seeing him with Harry makes me even happier.”�

“See?”� he persists. “Just stay with him for a week. And if things go well, you can stay with him for good. If they don’t, come back home. It’s a trial separation. Everybody deserves a second chance, love.”�

“But what about you?”� I ask, frowning, “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”�

“I’m touched, but seeing _you_ unhappy hurts me,”� he says earnestly, “I love being with you, but not if being with James would make you happier.”�

I can feel tears taking shape in my eyes. I have no idea where he went, or what happened to him, but I feel lucky to know such a caring man. I wrap him tightly in a hug and kiss his neck.

“Thank you for understanding. And I do care about you, John. If things don’t work out, you can count on me coming home.”�

He grins at me. “I would be ecstatic if that happens, but I know you’ll end up the way you’ve always wanted to.”�

“Oh, I hope so,”� I say wistfully, “I just hope you’ll be okay if it does.”�

He takes a moment to answer. “I will be.”�

Why am I so concerned? We haven’t even discussed this with James. He’ll probably hate the idea. I act like I’m some princess in a Grimm Brothers’ tale based on a hypothetical conversation. James isn’t going to go for this... 

_‘Of course he will,’_ assures my confident side. _‘You heard him. He wants you back.’_

_‘But will you have him?’_ questions my dignified facet. 

_‘I…I don’t know,’_ I answer. _‘He didn’t come after me. He didn’t comfort me or help me at all.’_

Why do I even _like_ this man? 

_‘Because you know he has a good heart. And that he didn’t do any of it on purpose.’_

I smile slightly. Yes, that’s it. 

That’s _exactly_ it. 

O O O


End file.
